Page 28 of The Accident

He leans in, voice lower now, almost a purr. “Did you do the same?”

The question lands between us like a hand grenade. My mouth opens, then closes. For a split second, I think about saying yes—yes, I stripped for the guard, yes, I debased myself, yes, I’m as much of a slut as Stella, as Cassie, as any of the women Trevor actually fucks.

But the lie that comes out is somehow even worse.

“No,” I say, eyes locked on his. “I would never do that.”

A single, quivering breath. Then, all at once, the truth spills out in a babble:

“I tried to bribe him, though. With pictures. Well… you know, the other stuff. I sent the photos to his number, but obviously, there was a huge snafu and you got them instead. But I don’t know how it happened! The signal in there was so bad, I didn’t even know the photos went through. Maybe that’s how you got them. I don’t know. I swear I didn’t mean to send them to you, Trevor. I was desperate. I just wanted out.”

The alpha male is absolutely motionless. He looks at me like he’s trying to x-ray the thoughts out of my skull.

I can’t stop talking now. “You don’t have to keep them, or even look at them. In fact, you can delete them right now and I’ll never, ever bother you again.” My voice goes all soft and frantic. “Please, Trevor. Please just forget it. Pretend it never happened. I’ll do anything.”

The last two words hang in the air, heavier than anything I’ve ever said in my life. The city is silent below. Even the sun, reflected in ten thousand mirrored windows, feels like it’s stopped to listen.

The huge man picks up his glass, but doesn’t drink. Instead, he turns the brandy around and around, watching the amber whirlpool at the bottom. When he finally speaks, his voice is cold enough to snap bone.

“I’m not going to delete them.”

I freeze, a marionette with cut strings.

“What?”

He waits a beat, then clarifies: “I liked getting them. They ruined my date last night, but it’s fine. I didn’t like that woman anyways. Your photos are much more interesting.”

I can feel my heartbeat, everywhere at once. My face flames as my fingers clench. Oh god, this is going from bad to worse!

But Trevor looks unbothered. He steps away from the bar cart, comes around the coffee table, and stops two feet in front of me. I look up at his towering form, and the color of his eyes is even more unreal in daylight: not blue, not gray, but something the word “ice” was invented for.

“In fact, sweetheart,” he drawls, “the pictures were so dirty that I want to see the goods for myself. In real life this time.”

I gasp. There’s no other word for it. The sound escapes before I can think.

Trevor sits on the sofa next to me, so close that the plush velvet groans under his weight. He leans forward, elbows on knees, his big body making me weak without even touching me.

“Take off your robe, Kayleigh,” he says, voice soft but unyielding.

“What?” I gasp, eyes wide.

Trevor doesn’t move.

“You heard me. Robe. Off. Or else.”

I don’t know what “or else” implies, but my hands move before I can even decide if I want them to. The belt comes undone, and I sit there, fingers trembling, not quite daring to spread the lapels. My body is nude underneath, my nipples already hard, the space between my thighs damp and achy from his nearness.

Trevor’s eyes drop, then return to my face. “Keep going.”

I hold his gaze for a full two seconds, then pull the robe open and let it fall behind me. The fabric slides down, a gentle, silent puddle at my hips.

I have never been nude before a man in my entire life.

Yet I’m tingling all over with anticipation.

Trevor’s eyes skim over my ivory curves, taking in my lush Double D’s with their stiff nipples. He sees the softness of my stomach, the gentle slope of my hips, and suddenly, I feel seen. This man knows me, and his eyes scorch over my curves, eating up the femininity.

Trevor doesn’t speak for a long, electric moment. Then he reaches out and touches my cheek, slow and deliberate.